Love Rings True
by Cecero
Summary: Three couples are drawn together by circumstance. In order to save their respective homelands, they must journey to the Ringed City and defeat the abomination at it's core. A serious task, to be sure, but that won't stop these three pairs of unlikely lovers from becoming one big happy family! A crossover of the fics On Love's Tail, More Than A Goddess, and A New Flame.
1. chapter 1

The Hunter flips through yet another tome,

sighing. Decades of eldritch knowledge at his fingertips, yet none of it gives him what he wants. He can shoot slugs from his hand, though. Why would anyone would spend time developing that?

He angrily slams the book shut, turning to look at the skull on his desk. It pulses with inhuman knowledge, the very kind that drives men mad. Using it is gambling with one's sanity.

An image of the Doll flashes in his mind, and without hesitation, he smashes the skull with one hand. For a split second, the Hunter sees a swirling, pulsing eye on the dried husk that was once a brain. The next moment, it is gone.

All is still for a moment. Suddenly, the workshop is replaced by the cosmos, swirling and churning around the Hunter. Long, invisible fingers grasp his skull, and a portion of the swirling cosmos detaches and flows into him. Inhuman whispers drill insight into his skull, granting him visions of massive Cyclopean superstructures, hideous creatures, and abominations of nature that defy explanation.

Then, as quickly as the vision camr, it is gone. Shards of bone clatter to the desk, and the crackling of the fire is there once more. The Hunter smiles. It was a risk worth taking, indeed.

He grabs a satchel full of skulls and heads off to Yharnam.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Darling, stop! I haven't even put my clothes away!"

A newly married couple stumble through the doorway of their stone and wood home, for the first time in weeks. To put it more accurately, the bride did, while the groom hangs from her neck, kissing it. "You can't fool me. You're just as exited as I am; see, your tail is curling up!"

Crossbreed Priscilla yelps, drawing her tail under her dress while her face goes red. Her husband hops down, chasing after it and snatching it, rubbing it sensually. Priscilla growls. " _Sær!_ At least let me bathe first!"

Sær gives a groan of complaint. "You smell lovely! Besides, you bathed this morning!"

She looks away. "Are you still embarrassed?" He asks.

"I can't help it," Priscilla mumbles, pouting. "My fur is growing back unevenly. It looks strange."

Sær frowns. Walking forward, he pinches her foot. Yelping, she lifts it, and he pulls on her tail, sending her toppling onto the bed. In an instant, he is on top of her. "You should know by know that that doesn't bother me." He kisses the patches of fur that are thicker than the layer covering the rest of her body. After peppering most of her torso with kisses, he moves down to her tummy.

The last of Priscilla's restraint snaps, and soon the house is filled with the sounds of ardent love.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Ashen One, why have we stopped?"

The Firekeeper stands still, her silk robes swaying in the breeze. Pump-A-Rum flutters overhead, gliding against the wind.

"We are here," the Ashen One responds. "The canopy of the Arch Trees."

Pump-A-Rum flies down, skittering to a halt, her talons digging into the dirt. "Pump-A-Rum's nest tree! Nest! Nest! Nest!" She hops up and down, frantically pointing at one of the treetops. The trunk spirals down for miles, disappearing behind a cloud bank.

The Firekeeper walks towards the edge. "Your sister fell from the nest, did she not? We are by the trunks, so she should be around _HEEEEEEEE!"_

She steps right off the ledge, plummeting down like a gorgeous brick. "MAMA!" Pump-A-Rum dives down after her, and after a moments hesitation, the Ashen One follows.

The sound of rushing air and flapping fabric fills his ears as he falls, gaining speed. The Firekeeper is still far down, caught in an uncontrollable spin. Angling his body, the Ashen One dives towards her. He passes Pump-A-Rum, seizing her by the middle with one arm and the Firekeeper with the other.

"Why would you do that?!" The Ashen One yells.

"You said that we were by the Arch Trees! _Trees are supposed to be in the ground!"_

She shrieks, bashing the heel of her palm against his face in an angry panic.

"My love!" The Ashen One shouts.

"What?!"

He smiles. "I think I'm falling for you!"

The Firekeeper stares in his direction in disbelief. Her face twisted in anger, she reels back, and with all her might she slams her shin up between his legs.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The Hunter gently lays the inanimate doll across the workbench, cringing at what he has to do. Taking a small ceramic saw, he sets to work carefully cutting around the hairline. Once the two lines meet he carefully removes the top of the 'skull', setting it on the table.

Opening the bag on the floor, the Hunter carefully removes a dirty, brittle skull, criss-crossed with dozens of cracks. A deep but silent bass emanates from it, and spots of cosmic blue energy pop and fizzle in and out of existence. He carefully cracks the skull, prying off the peices and gently lifting the brain inside. It is withered to the size of a fist, as expected of something that had rested in the Hintertombs for æons. On the brain, however...

Dozens of eyes of all sizes litter every inch of the brain, all as intact and moist as living ones. They swivel and rotate, greedily taking in every bit of their surroundings.

The Hunter places it into the empty cavity of the inanimate doll's head, replacing the porcelain dome that holds her hair. Checking the fit, he removes it once more, lining the edges with ceramic glue and fitting it back on. He covers the seam with yet another coat of glue, the white paint, and finally, a reflective coat of gloss. The empty doll pulses with knowledge of the Great Ones, and the Hunter can already feel himself drawn to the knowledge inside, like a blood addict staring at a vial. Just as planned.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

A pair of ecstatic screams echo through the house as Sær spends himself inside his beautiful bride, her own peak having sent him over the edge. Still riding high on the afterglow, he goes limp, laying on top of her as they both pant heavily.

Sær is affectionately nuzzling her breasts when a small squeak emits from the corner of the room. The two lover's head's snap towards the noise, resting on a blonde, timid house-sitter holding a broom and looking terrified and very, very uncomfortable.

"Ah, um," Anastacia stutters. "I watered the plants."

Priscilla's head flops back down on the pillow, fainting from embarrassment.

Sær quickly pulls the covers over his wife and himself to cover their immodesty, his face growing red. " _Anastacia!_ What the hell are you doing?!"

The woman hunches her shoulders and crouches to the ground. "I-I-I didn't want to interrupt and I tried to sneak away but I spent so long in that cage that my legs are weak and it's very hard to move quickly and quietly so I had to move slow and avoid the furniture so I had to feel around and by the time I had walked over her you had-"

 _"Okay okay okay!"_ Sær yells quickly. "It's fine, just-"

 _"Sær!"_

Rosabeth bursts through the door, her eyes widening as she processes what had just happened. Shaking her head, she composes herself. "Sær, help! Vengarl has been kidnapped!"

In a flash, Sær throws the sheet of of himself, modesty forgotten. He throws on his clothes, unaware of the two drooling women staring at him. Quickly shaking Priscilla awake and breifing her, they both speed out the door in search of their friend.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The trio skid to a stop at the bank of Ash Lake, scanning the sky by the Arch Trees.

Suddenly, feathers and the sound of rushing wind fill the air, and a massive crow flies overhead, clutching a dog's head helm in it's talons.

Vengarl (for indeed it is him) curses loudly at the creature. _"Unhand me posthaste, thou winged creature of incestous parentage!_ SÆR, STRIKE DOWN THIS FEATHERED BASTARD!"

His voice rapidly grows faint, the Priscilla-sized crow zooming towards the clouds.

With no hesitation, Priscilla snatches up Sær, placing him upon her back and diving into the water, her arm wings propelling her through the water at top speed. As the two aproach an Arch Tree, it strikes them how truly massive they truly are. The trunk is easily twelve Priscillas wide, peppered with small branches the width of wagons.

Gritting her teeth in determination, Priscilla grasps a branch and launches herself from the water, dashing up the tree as Sær holds on for dear life.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

If Priscilla wasn't such an unstoppable force of fluff, Vengarl would likely be stuffed in a crow gizzard.

After a half day of furious climbing, the curvaceous crossbreed scrabbles onto a rocky outcropping, the Arch Tree ending and supporting a small hunk of rock. Her face appears over the ledge, red faced and panting. Sær hops off of her back, petting her leg and exspressing his pride in her.

The two look around slowly. "What the hell?" Sær breathes. The top of the outcropping is lush, with grass and pale flowers littering a stone path lined with gravestones. Most peculiar of all, however, is the presence of a small house of oaken wood sitting atop the hill. The couple walk down the cobblestone path, mouths open in awe.

Priscilla suddenly breaks the silence. "...Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

She frowns. "It sounds like... Screaming..."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The Ashen One yawns, still clinging two his two companions. The first hour of their plummet had been terrifying. The second, exhilarating. The third, mind numbingly boring.

Suddenly, the Firekeeper shreiks, desperately clinging to the Ashen One. "Ground! _Ground!"_

Instantly the other two are alert. "Pump-A-Rum! Just like we planned!" The Ashen One yells. She salutes, then hooks her legs under the Firekeeper's arms. She then does the same to the Ashen One. "Get ready!" He yells. "Sneak!" A blue light envelopes the trio, slowing their fall slightly. Pump-A-Rum furiously flaps her wings, slowing them down further.

Their hearts beating furiously, the three let out primal screams of terror as they near the ground.

"It sounds like... Screaming..."

 _"Priscilla, look out!"_

The world explodes in a flurry of fur, feathers, and fluff, with the falling trio landing square on Priscilla, who topples onto Sær.

The door to the house on the hill opens, and the Doll and the Hunter rush out, staring in awe at the pile of people.

Those in the pile moan, bruised and aching, but very much alive.

"Well..." The Doll says hesitantly. "Who wants tea?"

 **A**. **N**. Lore? What's that?


	2. Crossbreed Café

"So... What- _Who,_ rather, are you?"

The Doll sits at the head of the table inside the workshop, sipping tea in her ornate wooden chair. The rest of the odd little group are cluttered around the table, the Hunter and Maria opting to stand, for the lack of chairs. Priscilla's head and shoulders rest across the doorway, her shapely hips unable to fit through. She sips on a large pot of coffee, a taste she had aqquired after she receiving a bag as a wedding gift.

"I am Priscilla," she replies, flashing a tiny-fanged, heartwarming smile to the group.

"And this is my husband, Sær." She gestures to the man petting her tail, which is still crooked from being used as a landing pad. Estus had healed it somewhat, but Priscilla doesn't know when-or where-she can refill it. Best to use it when needed.

"Wait," the Hunter says. "Sayer?"

"Sær," Sær corrects him.

"Sear?" The Doll tilts her head.

"No, Sær."

"See-ar?" The Ashen One asks.

" _SÆR! SAY! AIR! SAY-AIR!_ "

"Air," Maria says. The group stares at her, mouths agape. The silence is broken by peals of deafening, high-pitched laughter from Priscilla, her tail wagging as she gasps for breath. Sær's cheeks grow red, and he reclines against his wife, pulling his hood up.

The group turns to the Fire Keeper and Ashen One. "I am a Firekeeper," she says simply. "It is my duty to tend the flame of Firelink Shrine, and all those within it."

"And you?" Sær asks, turning to the Ashen One. "What is your name?"

The Ashen One blinks. "Name? I... Don't have one," he responds despondently.

The Firekeeper looks at him sadly. She had grown so used to calling him the Ashen One that she had forgotten the affliction that affects all undead: amnesia.

She hugs him from behind. "We'll find your name one day," she whispers. "I promise."

Pump-A-Rum squawks sadly.

The group looks to the Hunter. "Hunter," he mumbles, suddenly self conscious.

"I am Karina," the Doll says loudly. "And this talkative fool is my common-law husband."

Maria steps up next. "My name is Maria. I am the Hunter's _best_ friend and a-"

"-Whore," the Doll interjects. "We are aware.

"You wooden bi-mmph!" Maria's retort is muffled by the Hunter's hand as he drags her out the door. She manages a rude gesture before being pulled away.

The Doll scowls. "Pay no mind to her," she mutters. The others shift uncomfortably.

She turns to the group. "Tell me, what brought you here? These grounds are not easily accessible to most."

"Our friend was carried off by a giant crow," Sær replies. "Last we saw, it was flying past here."

The Doll turns to the Ashen One, tilting her head.

"She fell," he responds.

"She... Fell," the Doll repeats incredulously.

"How dost thou plan on returning whence thou came?" Priscilla asks, giggling as her teeth chatter. The rest look at her with blank stares.

"Sorry. She gets a little loopy when she has coffee," Sær says, sighing fondly. "What she means is, our worlds are clearly meant to be seperate. I have never heard of a place such as this, and it's mere existence shouldn't be possible."

"In a land of beasts and gods, one tends to let things go unquestioned," the Hunter replies. "Man could- and has -drive himself mad trying to find answers to things not meant to be known by mortals."

"But there has to be a reason," Sær retorts. "If one could travel to another world by simply being clumsy, we would have hundreds of cute firekeepers down here." Priscilla's eyes narrow, and she wraps her hands around his waist, dragging him close.

"Not all of us are clumsy," the Firekeeper says indignantly.

"And most of them aren't cute," the Ashen One adds, earning him a slap from his beloved.

The Hunter walks back into the room, panting, his face covered with scratches.

"Alright... What... Do we do?" He wheezes. "We can't just sit idly by while our worlds merge. This time it was just these three. What will happen when all manner of creatures start crossing the borders between worlds?"

Silence hangs in the air as the gravity of the situation presses down on the group. A new manner of monster in a foreign land would wreak havoc. Who is to say that the connection is only limited to three worlds?

"First," Priscilla says quickly, "Wemustfindout _why._ Speculatingshall- **_HIC!-_** Getusnowhere." She clears her throat and takes another sip of coffee.

"Well, we won't learn much here," Sær points out. "Seeing as the Ashen One's world is the highest, we should search there first."

The others nod their assent. "How shall we reach such a place?" The Doll asks. "That is quite an arduous climb. And _don't you dare suggest I stay behind,_ " she snaps as the Hunter begins to open his mouth.

"One of us can climb up and send a rope down," the Hunter suggests.

"Ishallgo," Priscilla chatters. She goes to take another sip of coffee, but Sær wrenches the pot from her grasp.

"I think that's enough," he chides as she grabs for it.

"Giiiiiii~ve iiiiiiit~," She whines, outstreching a shaky hand.

Sær ignores her. "I'll go. I prefer dodging to blocking, so I have high endurance."

The others nod their assent once again.

The Doll rummages through a chest, procuring a spiraling dagger with a hole on each side of the crossgaurd. "Plunge this into the tree when you grow weary."

She hands him a sturdy sling made with net. "Fasten this to the right side of the dagger, and take your rest with it. Pull on the left side to unfasten it."

"And take this," the Hunter adds, handing him a vial of deep red blood with a covered syringe attached to the top.

"What is this?" Sær asks.

"The blood of a Cainhurst prostitute. It will increase your stamina when injected.

Sær visilbly recoils. "Are you mad, man?! _Inject blood?_ _From a prostitute?!_ Do you _want_ a bloodborne disease?!"

"And what do you mean by _stamina?!"_ Priscilla chimes in. "My darling would never be unfaithful!"

"Fine, don't take it. Just go," the Hunter says angrily.

Sær heads for the door, only to be stopped by Priscilla. She nuzzles her face into his midsection, purring. She pulls back to rest her forehead against his, and he moves down to give her a loving kiss, the couple embracing warmly.

The rest of the group shifts uncomfortably. The Ashen One nudges the Firekeeper. "Why aren't _you_ that affectionate?"

She slaps him lightly. "You are such an ash."


	3. Lonely Ascent

Sær gasps, wiping the sweat off his brow.

The plateau that the others rested on has long since dissappeared, obscured by jagged grey clouds. Beams of light peirce the many layers of clouds sporadically, mercifully shining light on the Arch Tree and allowing Sær to see what he is doing.

From afar, the Arch Trees look smooth, straight, like an organism that defies the asymmetrical quality of life on this scale. Up close, however, the truth becomes readily apparent. The tree twists and spirals, large branches sparse along the trunk. The bark is large and easy to climb, yet rough and jagged, leaving Sær's hands rubbed raw by the end of the first day.

That was nothing, however, compared to the jagged barbs that lined it's branches, the multitude of rows looking like the teeth of a shark.

"Tch! Ahh," Sær winces as the bark scrapes his tender hand. The barbs were easy enough to avoid, and only mildly painful. He sighs. "This tree's bark is worse than it's bite."

Sær swears he can hear a groaning carried on the wind, though perhaps it's merely the tree shifting.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Priscilla lays in the field, tossing and turning, overcome with worry for her husband.

"Are you alright?"

A soft, accented voice reaches her ears, and she turns to find the Doll looking over her.

"Oh, hullo, miss Karina. I... I just... Miss my husband, is all," she responds, giving the Doll a weak smile.

"Truly?" The Doll tilts her head. "It has only been a day, and he is like to be gone for several more."

Priscilla smiles sadly. "I know, but... We've never been apart this long. Well, aside from the time we were trapped by vampiric trees for a few dozen years, but we weren't concious for that."

"I see," the Doll says, figuring it would be best not to question her. Who knows what this strange creature is talking about? (Rather hypocritical coming from a sentient doll, but valid nonetheless.)

Priscilla continues, oblivious to the Doll's obliviousness. "I was alone for so long while I lived in that painting. Skeleton-wheels do not make for very engaging company, you know!"

The Doll struggles to keep her face placid. _This creature is mad._

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Night creeps along the edge of the land of Lothric, the shadows stretching into the light of the moon, pulling it closer. Heavy rain pours from the skies, _plink plinking_ on the armor of fallen knights throughout the land. The hollows of the city scurry to shelter in sewers and alcoves, the last rusty cogs of their memories telling them that their armor would become unusable once rusted.

While initially grateful for the rain cooling his skin, the downpour quickly soured Sær's mood. The rain had soaked his cloak through, and his undergarments cling to his loins like grasping icicles.

The hollow soldiers peer out from their refuges, glaring angrily at him. occasionally, one would loose an arrow, only for it to be lazily swatted aside by the back of Sær's hand. "Predictable withered fools. YOU HEAR ME? PISS OFF!"

He hurls a pebble (a quite thrilling one, at that,) towards a hollow archer, where it smacks against it's cheek and sinks in. The thing groans, twitching and hopping in a vain attempt to knock it loose. Sær smirks.

The city of Lothric is massive beyond comprehension, a veritable mountain of pointed spires, high walls, and rambling stone houses. It has the look of a poorly-designed shanty town, albeit one made by brick and mortar. The main roads are few and far between, and Sær has to trudge through a maze of alleys towards what he hopes is the castle. Rusty water runs through the place, the first rainfall in weeks gently coaxing dried blood off the cobblestone.

The hollows are clustered more densely, indicating that the castle can't be far off.

After sinking a fair few pebbles into the faces of their kin, the hollows back off, not willing to risk combat while they can't fight back. Sær quickly turns to a group of them, baring his teeth. The withered things dart backward, stubling over each other while retreating further into the shadows. Sær chuckles.

 _Darling?_

"AAAIIIIEEE!" Sær's heart skips a few beats, his wife's high voice ringing through the air. The metal orchid pendant around his neck opens, and a gentle blue light fills the alley.

 _Darling?! Are you all right?_

Sær clutches his chest, willing his pulse to slow. "Y-yes, I'm fine. Just a particularly ugly hollow that I defeated; such a ridiculous scream it emitted!"

Priscilla giggles. _I'll say! It sounded like a wee maiden who had just spied a spider!_

Sær winces. "Yes, well... To what do I owe the pleasure of your call?"

 _O-oh, I just... I just wanted to check in! On you. N-Not that you need me to, of course!_

 _I... So I.._ She sighs, the embarrassment in her voice clear. _Oh, fine, I wanted to hear your voice! I miss you, and it's all your fault for volunteering to climb that stupid tree!_

"Someone had to do it," Sær replies. "I miss you too. I'm going as fast as I can."

 _Well, g-good. It's lonely down here... Mister Hunter shuts himself in his workshop all day, mister ashen-face just trains, the Fire Keeper stands facing a tree, and I think miss Karina thinks that I am crazy! And it is **so** dreadfully boring, and this place is so small that there is hardly any space for me to run around! **And** there is no place for me to sleep! What kind of host doesn't have crossbreed accommodations?!_

Sær frowns. "Priscilla, this isn't like you. Are you alright?" She is silent.

 _No,_ she sniffles. _Not really. I wanna go home. With you._

"We can't just leave Vengarl to fend for himself," Sær says, frowning.

 _I know, but... I feel... Wrong. I had become accustomed to being alone in Ariamis, for so many years. Then you came along, and at that moment, I knew that I never wanted to be alone ever again. These past few months have felt like a whole new life, and, and..._

"Hm?"

 _Forget I said anything. I'm making a fuss over nothing._

"No. No, you're not. You went through something terrible, Priscilla, and that memory isn't going to go away. It's normal for you to be scared and unsure; there's nothing wrong with you."

More silence. Sær continues, keeping a brisk pace through the city. "I'm not faring much better. I really miss you, Priscilla. Its only been two days and already I can't stop thinking about you."

 _Tch. 'Priscilla, Priscilla, Priscilla.' Hmph._

"Fine," Sær mumbles. "I miss you... Darling."

He can practically hear her beaming. _That's more-_

"Shh!" Sær interrupts. "There's some one here."

Immediately she fall quiet. Sær slowly pads to the center of what looks to be a throne room.

Suddenly, an intense heat lights up his side, an orange glow showing at the edge of his vision. With a startled yell, he dives towards the ground just as a massive, flaming greatsword smashes into the ground where he was standing. A blast of flames emit from the edge, propelling Sær farther and setting his short cape aflame. He lands with a painful grunt, rolling to put out the flames.

He stands, puffing, sweat on his brow. In front of him is a truly massive person, somewhat smaller than his wife, shuffling towards him on his knees. A chuckle emits from the opposite side of the room, and a frail, youthful voice reverbates throughout the throne room.

"My, oh my, another dogged contender."


	4. No More Tea

The high, weak voice rings through the throne room, seemingly emanating from a pile of blankets. The torn, ashen pile of purple cloth shifts, and a cracked face peeks through. Deathly pale, it looks to have once been youthful, though gaunt.

A large, white hand with unnaturally long fingers gestures as the voice-presumeably male- continues speaking.

"Mind you, the mantle of lord interests me none. To that end..." He gestures to the man across from Sær, a crippled wretch of a giant. "This is where you die. Lorian! Show this fool the power of a lord!"

With suprising speed, Lorian dives forward, his greatsword glowing as it cracks the marble that was beneath Sær's feet. He strafes around the giant, twirling his Aquamarine Dagger and elongating the blade in a flash of crystal.

With a deft flick, he lunges toward the leather strap fastening his opponent's armor, partially covered by plate. The blade sinks into his shoulder, yet Lorian remains silent. With a mighty heave, he lifts his greatsword, falling backwards and slamming the blade into Sær, who attempts to block it with his blade.

The force of the blow sends him tumbling, his crystal blade shattering under the pressure and allowing Lorian to lightly slice through his upper chest. Sær lands painfully, dazed and bleeding. The glowing-hot blade cauterized the worst of the cut, so he opts not to use estus.

Groaning, he raises his head to see Lorian's blade slam into the floor, sending a wave of fire hurling towards him. He fishes through his pouch frantically as the wave looms in front of him. His hands close around a fluffy talisman of crossbreed fur and he holds it high, closing his eyes and focusing all of his thought on casting Force.

Snow swirls around his boots, raising slowly and forming a tornado of ice shards. With a roar, he sends it hurtling toward Lorian, the ice orange from the glow of the wall of flame. The small blizzard crashes into the flame in an explosion of steam, the two forces evenly matched.

The steam swirls throughout the throne room, creating a blurry haze of heat.

Sær quickly pads across the floor, praying that he wouldn't be unfortunate enough to run headlong into the lumbering giant.

His foot catches a step, and he stumbles forward onto a staircase, the noise echoing across the chamber. He holds still, barely daring to breathe for fear of being found.

Suddenly, an orange glow lights up the center of the room. A high pitched whistle echoes off the walls, and a moment later, a massive plume of flame reaches skyward, waving away the steam and scorching the stone ceiling. Lorian is at the epicenter of the blast, his head cocked, focused. He grunts, and swivels his head to lock on to Sær, despite the crown melded to his flesh obscuring his vision.

The otherworldly intuition and jerky, shuddering movements of the elder prince send a shiver down Sær's spine, and he scrambles up the staircase.

This battle is not his.

Lorian follows him with more speed than apparently possible, launching himself forward and clawing at the ground as he gives chase to the little intruder.

The stairs are massive, twisting every which way and branching out at least a dozen times. Sær picks them at random, hoping desperately that each new one would not lead him to a dead end. He rounds aa final corner and is blinded by by the setting sun. All of a sudden, his foot falls out from underneath him, and he realizes much too late that the stone bridge is crumbling, sending him tubling down below.

Time seems to slow, Sær's heart dropping into his stomach. The wind rushes through his ears, and shards of stone cut his skin as he falls.

He hears the unmistakable sound of rocks clanging off of terra cotta, and looks down to see an angled plane of shingles rushing up to meet him.

He hears a sickening _Crunch,_ and a torrent of pain sweeps along his shoulder and into his chest. The fingers of his good hand scrabble for purchase as he slides down the roof, mercifully finding a handhold on a broken tile.

Lorian charges through the staircases, dragging himself along like a man possessed. The faint echoes of the intruder's footsteps are still imprinted in his mind, and the clanging of his armor bounces off the walls, guiding him. He rounds a corner, and a blast of fresh air hits him, driving him forward with renewed vigor.

A shadow passes over Sær, and moments later the massive man slams down onto the roof, his ruined legs taking the brunt of the fall. With a growl, he lifts his sword once more, jabbing viciously at Sær. Dodging the heavy blade, he clumsily swings his own at Lorian's head, only for the flat of the blade to smack against his helm harmlessly. Quickly retreating, he stops at the sound of a pained groan coming from the giant. Looking back, he sees the cripple clutching his ears, shaking his head in pain.

An idea forms in Sær's head, and he quickly bolts across the roof, chugging estus while his bones pop and reset themselves. Heavy scraping and the clinking of plate tells him Lorian is not far behind. With a renewed burst of speed, Sær heads towards the wall of the north bell tower, kicking off of it and propelling himself upwards. His hands grasp the lanky limb of a gargoyle not a moment before Lorian slams into the wall, roaring with frustration. Sær quickly clambers up the ledge, kicking off of the wall once more and grasping the chain keeping the bell suspended.

Slowly, he rocks back and forth to gain momentum, and the bell gradually starts to swing, emitting a bone rattling _clang_ at the peak of each arc. Satisfied, Sær puts his Aquamarine Dagger through the thick chain link.

"I don't believe we've met, Prince Lorian," Sær calls down. "Have we? My name is Sær. RING ANY BELLS!?" With that final word, he pours his magic into the dagger, and a crystal forms around the blade, snapping the chain link in two. The bell flies in a perfect arc, the air still and heavy with anticipation.

Sær had timed it's launch perfectly. The great brass bell, easily weighing half-a-Priscilla, slams into Lorian with a loud _GO-GOOOONG!_ The elder prince is flung bodily through the air, unconscious from the noise overwhelming his hearing. He flies through the air through one of the throne room's ornate stained glass windows, slumping against the railing inside, dangerously close to falling to his doom.

Sær groans, muttering to himself. "You're lucky I'm such a nice person, you blind, crippled bastard."

With that he launches himself from the bell tower, rolling as he hits the tiles. Wasting no time, he whips out his crossbreed talisman, casting as many Fall Control spells on the big lummox as his mana would allow. With a final burst of speed, he dives over the railing just as Lorian starts to plummet, adjusting his body so the both of them fall spread-eagled.

With a mighty crash, the two slam onto the throne room floor, the spell mercifully saving them from death. Sær looks up to see an astonished Lothric in the middle of eating a single, juicy grape.

"Fall Control?" He whispers. "You... You saved him?"

Lothric quickly teleports to his brother's side, checking for a pulse. "Oh, brother..." He whispers. "Heed my words: rise, and take arms once more, for that... Is our curse. Lorian stirs, groggily pushing himself to his knees as Lothric cups his face gently. "Brother," he breaths, like a prayer. In but a moment, their lips are locked, passionately exploring each other's mouths.

Sær's eyes widen. "Riiiiiight... I'll be on my way now..."

"Stranger, wait!" Lothric cries, prying loose from Lorian. "What are you doing here? At least let us repay this mercy."

"I climbed the Arch Trees," Sær replies. "From a realm far below. More people still are displaced, not in the same world of their birth. I seek answers."

"A world below...?" Lothric whispers. "Lorian! Prepare a lift near the Arch Trees." He turns to Sær.

"There is much to tell, and not much time to tell it. We shall speak on the way."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The last week had been hell.

Not because of the arduous, days-long climb, nor the rain, cold, hollows, or crippled princes. No, those trials paled in comparison to the hardest part of it all.

No Priscilla.

Sleep had come fitfully for Sær, often waking every few hours with further rest eluding him. There were no shortage of comfortable beds in Lothric, what with the city being largely empty, many citizens long since fled the hollow menace. But no matter how tightly he wrapped the blankets around himself, no matter how many fur coats he wrapped around the pillows, no substitute even came close to Priscilla.

As one could imagine, the lift hadn't even touched the ground before Sær flings himself into his lovely wife's waiting arms. The rest of the group shifts awkwardly, slightly envious. To be so free and open with one's love is not an easy thing, yet it seems to come easy to Priscilla and Sær.

"Well," the Doll says, appearing to blush slightly. "I shall begin making supper. Lady Firekeeper, will you help me with the stew? It needs to be tended to while I cut the vegetables."

The Firekeeper gives a small curtsy, then takes the Doll's hand to be led up to the Workshop. Priscilla's ears perk up, and she trots over to the pair. "Ah! Can I help, miss Karina? I do so love cooking!"

"I'm afraid there are no tasks suited to you, what with your size, Lady Priscilla," the Doll responds apologetically. Priscilla wilts. She glances at Sær, who is regaling the other men (and Maria) with a recount of his fight with the princes.

The Doll motions to Priscilla to lean down. The gentle giantess complies, and the Doll whispers in her ear. "Please pamper Master Sær as much as you are able," she says with a smile. "The poor boy looks likely to burst into tears at any moment." She pets Priscilla's arm, squeezing it reassuringly. "He needs you right now; being away from you looks to have taken quite a toll on him."

Priscilla looks worriedly to her husband, a sad look staining her cute features. "Truly? I... I did not know it was so bad..."

"I know you were abandoned for quite a long time," the Doll says. "But for whatever reason, it seems that he is much insecure than you, and this separation has affected him much worse."

Priscilla moans sadly. "Poor Sær..." Her expression quickly turns to one of frustration and sadness. "What kind of wife am I," she whispers. "To have let him go alone..."

The Doll shakes her head, tucking an errant strand of the crossbreed's snow white hair behind her ear. "He insisted," she reminds her. "But it matters not, now. Just give him love 'til our departure on the morrow."

"I will." Priscilla nods solemnly. She gives the Doll a heartwarming smile, as radiant and as grossly incandescent as the sun. "Thank you, miss Karina," she says, leaning forward and pecking her cheek, her lips leaving a faint trace of warmth on the Doll's face. Normally, such a display of affection from a near-stranger would spark her ire, but Priscilla has a childlike innocence, a sense of wonder that she can't help but be drawn to. This strange and fluffy girl is something special, to be sure, she thinks.

Priscilla, meanwhile, trots happily toward her Sær. In one swift movement, she sweeps his feet out from under him, scooping him up and hugging him like a stuffed plaything. "I'll tell you the rest later!" He yells to the trio. Priscilla carries him over to the great tree, laying upon the wooden platform tucked neatly behind it, sheltered on three sides. The sound of the wind is muffled as she settles into the large feather-bed the Hunter had procured for her, her tail thumping happily as she sinks into it.

Purring, she pulls Sær up to her and lovingly nuzzles his face, kissing it all over while she speaks softly to him.

"I missed you."

Smooch.

"I love you."

Smooch.

"I couldn't stand being away from you."

Smooch, smooch, smooch, smooch.

Sær's face tingles pleasurably as Priscilla lavishes it with her kisses. "Priscilla, what's gotten into you?"

She doesn't respond, instead choosing to playfully nip at his ear before ghosting her lips over his sensitive neck and upper back. Sær sighs in ecstasy, his questions-and troubles- flowing out of him like water from a broken dam. Her large hands gently rub his torso, wandering north every so often to lovingly stroke his face. Pleasured groans spill from Sær's mouth, and she can't help but giggle at seeing him so relaxed.

"Do you remember," Priscilla says softly. "Our first night together?"

Sær chuckles. "You started screaming at me within ten seconds of our first meeting, and by the end of the day we were cuddling for warmth."

"You were so cold," she giggles. "Like a cute little ice cube."

"A handsome little ice cube," Sær corrects her. They both laugh softly. His smile slowly fades. "You were so starved for company... Even though I barely knew you, it still broke my heart."

"And that is how I knew you were a wonderful person," Priscilla replies. "To so readily share bread and bed with a crossbreed, and one as large as me... T'was as if you saw naught but a woman, a fellow person."

"Of which you are both. You just have a little extra, that's all." Sær smiles, snuggling up closer to her, pulling up her fluffy wing on her right arm to use as a blanket. "You are special, the only one of your kind. Ostracized and alone in such a strange place for so long, yet still sweet as candy... There are very few who could go through what you have and still end up so loving and kind." He smiles warmly at her.

"Oh, it's been so long since I had candy last," Priscilla moans.

Sær frowns. "I was in the middle of talking about how kind and caring you are, but I suppose you care more about candy. Hones-"

"You have some?!" Priscilla butts in, tail wagging excitedly.

"No, but-"

"Aw..."

Sær sighs. "Never mind."

Priscilla clicks her tongue at him. "They say a sigh is happiness escaping from the body, Sigh-air." She gets a devilish glint in her eye. "But I can think of a way to make you sigh with happiness."

"R-Really? And what m-might that be?"

Priscilla's smile widens, showing her small fangs as she teasingly runs a finger down Sær's chest. "Oh, I believe you know. After all, it has been so terribly long~..."

"Oh. Ohhh," Sær says, realization dawning on his face. "I, uh, would love to, b-b-but I'm quite tired. F-F-From the journey."

Priscilla frowns. "And what better way to reinvigorate yourself than by f-"

"-Ixing up some tea!" Sær interrupts, getting up and heading towards the workshop. The forwardness of the normally demure crossbreed frightens him.

"Lovely idea! I'll make us some right awa-!"

His sentence is cut short by a large tail snaking around his midsection, flinging him backwards into Priscilla's arms. She looks down at him angrily. "That was not a request," she growls, the tip of her tail curling.

"Rest?"

"No, req-"

"Rest! An even better idea, we'll sleep. Good night!" Sær quickly closes his eyes.

Priscilla grabs his belt, her large fingers fumbling with the clasp. A dominant, excited smile spreads across her face.

"I hope your estus flask is full," She whispers, her lips grazing his ear.

"Because neither of us will be getting a wink of sleep.

All~

Night~

Long~."

A.N. Apologies (or you're welcome?) for the inane, gratuitous couple chat and very descriptive cuddling. I haven't written any fluff in weeks and I needed to get it out of my head. Aaaah, that's better.

I'm having fun developing these characters. In the actual game, they have little dialogue, but their personalities are still firmly established. For Priscilla (in the game), she's kind and cute, and likely awkward and innocent due to being locked away for so long.

I've been focusing on Sær and Priscilla, but I'd like to start forging (platonic) relationships between the characters.

I'd also like to work off of more reader input. What characters and situations do you want to see? (example: the Doll and Maria get trapped in a well together, Firekeeper and Maria get drunk and gripe about men, stuff like that.)

Apologies for the lack of new chapters for my fics. I'm hitting a mini writer's block and I don't want to force myself to write without a solid idea, because it often isn't that good.


	5. Crowing

Sær slowly pushes open the heavy oak doors to the workshop, wincing as his exhausted body creaks and groans.

The squeaking and scraping of the doors sounds out through the workshop, causing the other inhabitants of the dream to look up from their breakfast.

An exhausted-looking Sær hobbles in, bow legged, taking great care not to let his legs meet. The Doll titters behind her hand as he sits down gingerly.

"Long night, master Sær?" She asks, smirking slightly. He merely grumbles in response, poking at the eggs she lays out for him.

The ground rumbles slightly, signifying the approach of a particularly large crossbreed. Sure enough, Priscilla appears moments later, popping her head and shoulders through the doors. Unlike her husband, she looks positively radiant.

Humming cheerfully, she sets to eating the whole loaf of bread that the Doll had toasted for her.

"Fhank 'oo, miff Kawina!" She exclaims through a mouthful of toast.

"Certainly, my dear," the Doll responds, amused. "You look rather pleased this morning. Anything we should be appraised of?"

Priscilla's eyes widen. "No, no. No, why, why would you think- s-say, I mean- what you- that is what _I-"_

The Doll smiles as she sputters and stutters.

"You're not sick?" The Hunter asks.

"No," Priscilla responds. "Why?"

"Oh no reason," he replies, stifling a grin. "Last night we heard some moaning and the odd _squelch._ We figured you might be voiding your stomach." He and the Ashen One struggle to suppress wheezy giggles.

"Just ignore them, Priscilla," Sær says with a yawn. "Besides, I still have to brief everyone on my trip."

That was enough to silence the others; all the commotion of the previous day had driven the thought from everyone's minds.

Sær takes a bite of toast, contemplating where to start. "The royalty of Lothric-the lucid ones, anyway- were quite interested to hear of the link between worlds. Being a mage, Prince Lothric had heard his fair share of legends, most of which he wrote off as fantasy."

He clears his throat, taking another bite of toast. "The surrounding lands have been experiencing violent earthquakes. Twenty miles to the the east of Lothric's borders, the pyromancers in the swamp province report due north shifting several degrees."

"Which means?" The Ashen One prompts.

"Which means the entire province is being moved. Several major landmarks no longer line up as they once used to."

The Doll frowns. "Surely such a thing is not possible?"

The Ashen One shakes his head. "In our world, the age of fire is what kept the earth balanced. And since the flame is fading, there is no force keeping natural order."

"The worlds are collapsing," Sær interjects. "All of them. Without the flame, the world is being pulled towards the largest fragment of the dark soul."

"But the flame never dies completely," the Firekeeper adds softly. "So if we destroy the dark soul, then it should halt the collapse."

"For Lothric, at least. Drangleic has already fallen," Sær says. "If we don't act quickly, the swamp province will follow, and Lothric not long after. Lothric's scholars estimate about a year before the kingdom starts moving. We need to stop it before that happens."

Priscilla's ears perk up. "Adventure?"

"Adventure," Sær confirms.

"Oh, how wonderful! Our first adventure as a married couple!" Priscilla beams. "Mister Vin-grahl will be delighted to hear it! Once we find him, that is."

"Then we shall leave on the morrow after procuring supplies," the Doll says. "Ah, the stew is finished. Good Hunter, would you please fetch Quork? She must be starving."

The Hunter nods, leaving the workshop through the side door.

Sær suppresses a grin. "Fetch Quork? What, are we having wine for breakfast?"

The building goes deadly quiet as the other occupants stare at him angrily. Sær shrinks into himself. "See, because wine bottles have corks in them, and that sounds - OW!"

Sær jumps as several strands of hair are pulled from his scalp.

 _"Quork!"_

A large crow the size of a small dog flutters down from the Hunter's arms, ambling towards the bowl of stew placed on the floor.

Pump-A-Rum frowns, lightly smacking her. "Bad sis," she chides.

The rest of the room's occupants swivel to stare at her. " _That's_ your sister?" The Ashen One breathes. "The one we were looking for? Why didn't you tell us!?"

"Did," Pump-A-Rum replies. "Unklindle didn't listen." Her tongue trips over it self trying to pronounce his title. To be fair, 'Unkindled' is a bit hard for a crow-girl to pronounce.

"At least that's one less problem to worry about," the Ashen One sighs. "The list is long enough as it is. Stop the Ringed City, split the Dark Soul, kill the knights..."

"Find our friend," Sær adds. "He's the reason we came here in the first place."

"What does this friend of yours look like?" The Doll asks. "Perhaps we have seen him."

"Well," Sær starts. "He's difficult to spot, but once you do, he's very memorable."

"Could you please be a bit more vague?" The Hunter says dryly.

"Fine. He's a severed head inside of a dog helm."

"Oh," Pump-A-Rum starts. "Mama tried to feed him to us. Pump-A-Rum chipped a tooth!" She pulls up her lip to reveal a cracked molar.

Sær looks at her blankly for a moment, then merely sighs. "Let's go get him, then."

* * * * * * * * * * *

Vengarl lay in an unkempt nest behind the great tree. His dog's head helm was littered with bird droppings, and he has a look of resignation on his face. Upon hearing the shuffling of leaves, he merely sighs. "Oh, get on with it, you great, stupid bird."

"Well, that's a fine way to adress someone here rescue you!"

Vengarl's downcast eyes flicked up upon hearing the familiar high-pitched voice. "Lady Priscilla!"

"And me!" Sær scoffs indignantly.

"And you," Vengarl agrees. "After so long staring at this damned nest, even _your_ face is a welcome change."

"Hey!"

"Now, now, boys," Priscilla chides. "You can chat all you want after mister

Vin-Grahl has been all cleaned up."

Vengarl breathes a sigh of relief as Sær picks him up. "Finally, I may be free of this stench!" He yawns. "What news? Surely you must have a reason for taking so long to rescue me?"

"We're going to save the world," Sær replies nonchalantly.

Vengarl stares at him in disbelief.

"...Put me back in the nest."


	6. Love Lift

A fun fact about dragons: they can hold twice their own body weight by their tails. They use this clever trick to blend in to rocks and cliffs, only uncurling to dart out and grab prey.

Although Sær finds it difficult to appreciate dragon facts while dangling miles above the ground.

The large lift swings and creaks in the breeze, the occupants _inside_ paying no mind and enjoying a nice cup of coffee. Unfortunately, Priscilla couldn't fit without crushing her friends, so she was forced to hang out. Literally.

"Ooo... I don't feel so good," Sær groans. His vision swims as he peeks over Priscilla. She had curled up her legs, allowing her husband to sit on her plush, soft thighs and recline against her calves.

"Then do not look down, silly," Priscilla chides. A sudden gust of wind hits the lift, rocking it to and fro. Sær jumps, squeezing his eyes shut and clinging to Priscilla.

"Why are you afraid? You have _climbed_ up there before," Priscilla says.

"That's different," Sær replies. "There is something much worse about dangling like this."

A sudden gust of wind sets the lift to swaying, and he groans, closing his eyes. The sound of laughter and smell of coffee reaches him from above, and he frowns. "I was the one who climbed up there," he grumbles. "I should be up there."

"Then go," Priscilla says. "I am certain that someone would be willing to switch with you."

"But-"

 _"Go,"_ Priscilla urges. "Just promise to bring some coffee back to me. Quarter cream, thirty sugars, please." She curls up, kissing and nuzzling his cheek. "Just promise you won't be _too_ long."

Sær nods, shimmying up her fluffy tail and clambering up into the lift.

As he opens the door to the large lift he is assaulted with the smell of pastries and the sound of laughter. The air is warm, saturated with the musty smell of leather, lace and oil, mixing together to form an oddly nostalgic scent. Maria and the Hunter have their elbows propped up on a table, their hands clasped. Both are straining mightily, their faces red and sweating. With a groan, the Hunter gives one last push, slamming Maria's hand down on the table.

"Damn it!"

"Yes! One for one," the Hunter crows.

With nothing to draw their attention, the rest of the group notices Sær standing in the doorway. That is, except for the Firekeeper who reaches for a drink and misses by a mile, her burnt fingers fumbling and knocking over a glass. The steaming liquid splatters across the table, pouring onto Maria's lap and causing her to let out an uncharacteristically feminine shriek. It soaks her undershirt, turning it sheer as it clings to her curvy figure and seeps down into her pants.

The Hunter chokes on his coffee while the Doll glares at her accusingly, as if she planned the accident.

"Ah, oh no!" the Firekeeper yelps, picking up a napkin. "I hope it doesn't stain..." She dabs Maria's shirt and pants frantically as the larger woman blushes.

The Firekeeper's brow furrows. "This seat is rather oddly stuffed..." She pats Maria's thighs, trailing her hands up her body. "What on earth...?" She squeezes Maria's chest. "This feels like..."

Realization dawns slowly on her face as she trails her hands upward and over Maria's face. Her pale visage grows even whiter, and she jumps away from the huntress. Too embarrassed to let out more than a squeak, the Firekeeper sits in her chair, her hands clasped on her knees. Maria stands, her face a brilliant scarlet, and heads to the door.

"I'll switch with you," she mutters.

"O-okay, thanks," Sær replies. _She seems to be in a bad mood,_ he thinks. _Priscilla always cheers up when I complement her, so..._

"By the way Maria, that's a lovely bra."

In a flash Sær is dangling outside of the door as Maria holds his collar with one hand. He pales and starts wheezing, backtracking immediately.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I meant it's not a lovely bra! It's plain and frumpy! I didn't even notice it!"

Maria's eyes widen dangerously. "Ack!" Sær cries. "You misheard me! I said, 'You're lovely, brah!'"

Maria squints, pausing. Then, seemingly satisfied with his correction, she hurls him back into the lift. He rolls before landing on his face, his legs dangling over him as his cape settles on his head.

~

Maria swings down the lift, using her long, nimble fingers to grasp onto either side of the wooden beams. The wind whips her clothes back and forth, and she shivers as the tea cools on her skin.

"Hullo," a voice chirps. Maria looks down to the source, startled to find a very large crossbreed hanging by her tail. Priscilla's peculiar eyes stare up at her curiously, regarding the huntress with a look of childlike wonder. "Hullo?" She chirps again upon not receiving a reply.

"Ah, yes, hi," Maria stammers. Priscilla is silent for a moment.

"You are very large," Priscilla says.

"Look who's talking," Maria says, nonplussed.

"For a human, I mean. _Are_ you human? You seem much taller and prettier than most humans."

Maria shrugs as best she can while hanging. "I'm not sure myself. My people imbibed a vile, corrupted blood centuries ago. It... Changed us, it replaced our blood. It's an eerie substance, and those who are well trained can shape it into different forms."

Priscilla pales at the explicit description. "Your world seems scary."

"It is, I suppose. Isn't your world just as violent?"

"Oh, no no no," Priscilla replies. "We only hurt monsters, and many of them don't even have blood. When we defeat them, they go POOF! And turn into lots of souls."

"That's quite different," Maria says. "Normally my battles end with a hug and a broken heart."

"Aw," Priscilla replies. "Love certainly is a battlefield."

"I meant that literally," Maria corrects her.

Priscilla draws into herself as her stomach turns. "Miss Maria, might we talk about something else?"

Maria kicks herself mentally. Priscilla still had that effervescent air of innocence that so many children do, and she should have known such talk would upset her. Swinging down to Priscilla, the huntress slides down her tail and sits down on her thighs. She crosses one long, slender leg over the other, leaning against her knees. "So, this Sær fellow of yours..."

The crossbreed's eyes light up, and Maria knows she has struck gold.

"Oh, isn't he just perfect?" She gushes. "He even made my wedding band himself!" She points to the gold bracelet on her tail.

 _Perfect isn't the word I would use,_ Maria thinks. _Awkward and buffoonish would be more apt._

"How did you two meet?" The huntress asks. "Did he ask you to help him get a book off a high shelf?"

"No."

"Pull his carriage?"

"What? No!"

"Change a lightbulb?"

"What's a lightbulb?"

The two stare at each other.

Maria clears her throat. "...You are very large."

Priscilla shifts nervously. "Yes, my mother has always said that I'm tall as a reed."

Maria grins impishly. "A Crosb-reed."

Priscilla glares at her. "Ugh. You're worse than my husband."


End file.
